Chapter 26

ANTHONY

ALL THROUGH THE better part of July, every time Anthony started to tell Joy the truth, something stopped him. He hadn’t been this happy with a woman since . . . since when? He was going to say since he’d first met Cassie, but the truth was he hadn’t ever been this happy with Cassie. He’d never been himself with Cassie, from whom he had no secrets, and yet he felt completely himself with Joy, who knew only half the story.

Joy made him laugh. She was so passionate about everything: sweet pickles versus dill (dill, always, unless on a cheeseburger), gelato versus ice cream (gelato), thick-cut fries versus shoestring (oh, always, always shoestring). In bed, they were—well, it was going very well. One night When Harry Met Sally came on television, and they watched it, both ridiculously riveted. It turned out they both liked romantic comedies: Sleepless in Seattle. You’ve Got Mail. While You Were Sleeping. “But this one’s the best by far,” she said. He concurred.

He loved to watch her cook in her tiny, mismatched kitchen, even though, by her own confession, she was more baker than cook. Without the help of her favorite food blog (a coincidence so fantastic he, an erstwhile novelist, would never have dared to construct it in fiction), she said she’d be nothing. Maggie had the true culinary talent in the kitchen. Maggie’s face took on an earnest look—almost pinched—and when she was really concentrating the tip of her tongue slipped out of the side of her mouth. He would never be able to tell them about the kitchen he and Cassie had put in at their Newton home, about the six burners on the range, only one of which was ever used, mostly to boil water for tea or the occasional hard-boiled egg. (To Cassie food was more about subtraction than addition.) Joy was an enthusiastic eater—even voracious.

Anthony learned that the island had an ecosystem he hadn’t understood, couldn’t have understood if he hadn’t met someone like Joy. Bob Herbert fixed the Le Baron; it ran like a dream. The locals fed on the tourists, and the tourists fed on the locals. Both sides were unapologetic about their parts in this arrangement. And underneath it all thrummed a vibrant and teeming community. The islanders didn’t, as he would have imagined, wait through summer to get to winter. Nor did they wait through winter to get to summer. They took each season in stride.

You could only be a part of this ecosystem if you were relentless, optimistic, resourceful, and self-sufficient, and if you taught your offspring to be the same. So Anthony found himself captivated by all of the island tricks Joy and Maggie knew. If you wanted any beach to yourself, you walked the dog at sunrise. If you wanted a good table at Eli’s, you went on a Wednesday. If you wanted clear water and soft sand, you braved the crowds at Ballard’s, but if you wanted to hunt for shells and sand dollars, you went to Surf Beach.